


A New Dawn

by Halbeary



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: HELP HIM!!!, M/M, SADNESS ALERT, help him barry, my poor green son, this is gonna get long i can already tell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halbeary/pseuds/Halbeary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry's back, and he's going to save his best friend. A Parallax fix-it fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright well, here it goes— I normally don't post a multi-chapter fic until it's done but I feel like this is gonna get long ( _it's already on 22 pages on chapter 2.. haha.. ha.._ ) so I figured I'd just update it as I go and TRY REALLY HARD not to go too long between chapters.
> 
> I've taken some liberties with Wally's story here. Also, in this story there was no weird-ass time paradox shit— Zoom killed Iris at the costume party, and Barry sacrificed himself in CoIE a while after. This takes place a year after the events of CoIE.
> 
> Enjoy!

     He’s reborn on a Tuesday.

     A flash of lightning illuminates the alleyway, stench of ozone permeating the air as he collides with the pavement, knees cracking against hard cement as his whole body vibrates uncontrollably. Every one of his molecules is trying to separate itself, pulling in opposite directions and it's all he can do to keep breathing, to suck in ragged lungfuls of air as he spasms against the wet ground, every raindrop hitting his skin feeling like a bullet tearing through him. His teeth grit against the pain, muscles on fire as he vibrates faster, steam rising from the alleyway around him as he tries to think, to force his brain to form a coherent thought— _god_ , what the _hell_ happened?

     There's a loud rumbling sound approaching his location but he can't move, can't lift his head while he feels like his body is stuck between universes, getting tugged in opposite directions as he tries to find something to ground him, to hold on to, but he can't _think_ , he can't _remember—_

     A rough fabric falls against his skin and he _screams_ , every contact point causing his nerves to erupt with _fire_ — _the **fire** , he remembers the fire, the burning, the oppressive heat that grew worse as he ran, skin melting and disintegrating from his muscles as he sprinted faster, he had to run **faster**_ — the air _crackles_ with kinetic energy as his skin starts to settle, to become something other than an unconnected lump of molecules.

     Something is calling to him, a rough voice trying to catch up to him through his vibrations, words elongated and distorted to the point where he can barely understand, what was it _saying_ — _b_.. _Barry_?

 _Barry._ That's his name _,_ he remembers now — he's _Barry Allen,_ the _Flash_ , _fastest man alive_ — _but_ _not_ _fast_ _enough, not enough to destroy this thing before it destroys **everything,** destroys Ralph and Sue, Wally, **Hal** —_

     His eyes snap open, pupils dilating nauseatingly as he breathes in through his nose, focusing on the water droplets hitting the pavement next to his face as he tries to get his breathing under control. He manages to roll his twitching body over, blinking up at the overcast sky as the rain hits his face, cool water feeling soothing this time instead of penetrating. This isn't _Central_ — _where?_

     A familiar cowl enters his line of sight, pointed black ears blending into the darkness of the skyscrapers behind him, eye slits wide with shock.

     “ _Barry_? Can you hear me?”

     He manages an exhausted blink in return, eyes slipping closed as his vibrations die down. Bruce says something he can't quite make out, voice slow and drawn out like it’s coming to him from the other side of a long tunnel. Maybe he'll just rest for a moment— he’s allowed to rest, right? The universe is still here, he has _time_.

     He feels someone slide a hand under his neck and knees and then he's floating, muscles finally relaxing in exhaustion as he loses consciousness.

\-----------------------

     A steady _drip, drip, drip_ pulls him out of his dreamless sleep, ears focusing on the quiet rustling far above him, the sound of a waterfall in the distance, water droplets echoing off the walls — _Batcave_ , his mind helpfully supplies _._

     He blinks his eyes open, vision blurry as he tries to focus his pupils in the dim lighting, a blue glow bouncing off the stone walls. There's a steady _tapping_ noise from somewhere to his right and he lolls his head to the side, trying to pinpoint the source. Bruce is at his computer, shoulders hunched as he types, fast scrolling screen reflecting the grim line of his mouth.

     Barry drags a stiff arm under his body, pushing off of the cot with a groan, frowning down at his bare chest in confusion when the blanket slips— why is he _naked?_

     Bruce's head snaps in his direction and he shoves his chair back, stalking to Barry's bedside and wasting no time pulling out his wrist scanner and waving it over Barry's body, eyes narrowing at the readings as if he can't quite believe it.

     “Bruce?” his voice is raspy, throat sore and dry. Bruce's eyes flick to his face once, expression unreadable, cape _snapping_ behind him as he moves in the direction of an alcove Barry hadn’t noticed. He reappears with a glass full of water and hands it to Barry, shoulders stiff with wariness.

     “My scans indicate that you're from this universe, but I don't see how that’s possible.” Bats pulls a chair over to Barry's bedside, fiddling with the tiny display like if he stares at the data long enough it will suddenly make sense. “You’re—  _were_.. gone.” He watches Bruce glance up at him with furrowed eyebrows from behind the edge of the glass of water as he takes long, desperate gulps. He doesn’t remember being this thirsty in his entire _life_ – and _wait,_ what does he mean.. _gone?_

     “What do you remember?”

     Barry hands back the glass of water, feeling a thousand times better already as he presses a hand to his now-throbbing temple, trying to force his brain to think— to _remember_.

     “I remember.. I was running around something, some metal device..” His heart rate accelerates, the room feeling warmer all of a sudden as a droplet of sweat rolls down his forehead. “There was fire, and I had to keep running, had to keep going faster, I wasn't going _fast enough_ —”

     He drops his head to his hands, breathing coming in short gasps as he tries to calm down.

     “It was so hot, everything was on fire— _I was on fire—”_ he chokes back the bile that rises in his throat, room tilting dangerously as he remembers the _heat, skin peeling from his body as he sprints, crying out but no one can hear, he's alone, he's alone and he's disintegrating, falling apart but no one can help him he's going to die, he's dying—_

     A cold hand touches his shoulder and he's jolted from his thoughts, whole body shaking as Bruce hands him another glass of water. He clutches the glass like it's a lifeline, blinking the sweat out of his eyes as he lifts his head to stare at Bruce in horror.

     “I wasn't just gone, was I? I was _dead._ ”

     Bruce tugs his cowl down, revealing the tired man beneath as he runs a hand through his hair, sighing with exhaustion. His head jerks in a nod, confirming Barry's suspicions.

     Barry lifts his hand up in front of him, eyeing the pink tinged skin with disbelief. His skin is whole, brand new and not on fire, not melting off of him as he runs faster than he's ever run, fading into nothingness —

     “ _How?_ ”

     Bats walks over to a set of cabinets against the wall, pulling out a black shirt and sweatpants and tossing them in Barry's direction. He frowns at Barry as he tugs the oversized shirt on, expression strained as he tries to come up with an answer.

     “I have no idea. I saw a disturbance on my radar and went to investigate. I didn't expect—” he waves a tired hand in Barry's direction “— this. _You._ ”

     Barry finishes pulling on the sweatpants, mind racing as his heart rate falls back to a normal speedster tempo. When he opens his mouth again his voice is quiet.

     “Everything... is fine? It worked? Everyone’s ok?”

     Bruce stares at him from his position on the chair, eyebrows pinched like Barry's just said something ridiculous.

     “I — yes, Flash — everything is fine. You saved us. You saved _everyone_.”

     Barry nods distractedly, brain still trying to process the recent chain of events. _God,_ where does he even _start?_  Where does he go from here? His eyes widen with horror as a thought occurs to him.

     “How long was I gone?” Batman doesn't _look_ that much older, but it's hard to tell with Bruce sometimes — the man is a _master_ at manipulating people's perceptions of him.

     The man in question stays silent, eyes downcast as Barry starts to panic, adrenaline flooding his system.

     “Bruce? _How long was I gone?”_

     Bruce raises his head, dark circles under his eyes accented by the contrasting blue glow of the monitors. He looks _exhausted. What had happened while he was gone?_

 _“_ It’s been almost a year now.”

     The air leaves Barry's lungs in a _woosh,_ shoulders drooping as he drags his hand down his face in disbelief. _A year— a whole year of everyone thinking he was dead._ He lets out a shaky breath, pushing himself off the cot, stumbling as the room sways around him.

     “Barry, you need to _rest_.” Bruce jumps to his feet, hand shooting out to steady him before he falls.

     “I _have_ been resting— for an entire _year,_ apparently.” He bats the hand off his shoulder with an irritated _huff_ , rolling his stiff shoulders once before tapping into the speedforce and doing a quick lap around the Batcave. He reappears in front of Bruce before he can even blink. Everything _seems_ to be fine— _he_ seems to be fine. He puts a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

     “Bruce, I don’t know how or why I’m back, but I can't let the people I care about think I'm dead for another second.”

     His heart aches as he thinks of what they must have gone through, the same thing he went through when Zoom vibrated his hand through Iris’s chest. He had been inconsolable for _months_ , barely able to eat or get himself off of Hal’s couch, the pilot trying to help in any way he could— dragging him out into space for corps missions, buying dozens of fresh donuts from the tiny bakery down the street from Hal’s apartment, even faking an _alien invasion_ to get Barry back in the game ( _that was the first time he laughed since his wife’s death, when Hal begrudgingly admitted that he created it himself— only Hal would create a will construct so powerful that it gained **sentience**_ ). Guilt churns in his stomach as he thinks of Hal going through that alone— if it wasn’t for Hal, he would have never gotten through that dark time in his life.

     “I don't really know where to start. Is Hal even here? Or is he off planet?”

     As soon as he mentions Hal’s name Bruce's shoulders stiffen, fists clenching as he turns away to face the computer screen. Barry's hand falls from his shoulder as an icy feeling works its way into his chest.

     “Bruce? Where's Hal?”

     Bruce let's out a sigh, rubbing at his eyes as he shoots Barry a pained-looking expression. He walks back to his computer screen and inputs some commands, mouth set in a grim line as he stares down at the keyboard. Barry follows in a daze, breath catching in his throat as he reads the headline on the news video Bruce has opened on his screen.

_Coast City destroyed — thousands dead._

     He feels his legs give up, stumbling back against the cold metal railing as he stares at the display, brain unable to process— the _whole city? Gone? Hal—_

     “Bruce. _Where is he?_ ”

     Bruce slams a hand down on the power button, blue glow from the display cutting out as he shakes with barely suppressed.. _Rage_?

     “Hal Jordan is dead.”

\-----------------------

     The silence is what gets to him, the only sound the soft _whooshing_ of the ocean breeze as it blows unmitigated by skyscrapers and old townhouses, rustling the tips of his hair as he stares out over the lip of the crater.

     It’s hard to believe that this is the same spot, the same place where he and Hal would grab a burger at the joint down on pier four when they were exhausted after a battle, Hal throwing fries at Barry’s face as he laughed at him, telling him to ' _slow down, I thought you midwestern boys were supposed to have manners'_ as Barry inhaled all twenty burgers in the span of a few seconds, other customers staring at him in horror. The same spot where he had dragged Hal to his apartment after a bar fight went a little too far, Hal’s head lolling against his shoulder as he laughed into Barry’s neck, cracking dirty jokes that made Barry sputter and blush.

     A crushing sense of guilt gnaws at his stomach as specks of dust blow over his boots, tiny metal fragments of people’s lives glinting off the sunlight as he drops to his knees, overwhelmed by the _stillness_ , the lack of angry cab drivers honking in the distance, the missing squawk of seagulls overhead and the comforting rumble of planes taking off somewhere nearby.

_He should have been here._

     Logically, he knows he made the right choice, by running himself into an early grave he _knows_ that he saved the universe, saved everyone— but what had _happened?_ The world had seemed so bright when he had left, so full of _hope_.. and now all that’s left is an empty shell, a hollow crater where there was once promising futures, all promise and _life_ snuffed out in a _flash_.

     He grabs a handful of dirt, watching as the soil falls through his fingers as his eyes sting. This is all that’s left of _thousands_ of lives _,_ of _Coast City_ — just _dust_.

     While Central City is his home, Coast City was a close second— he never felt like a stranger here, always had a place on Hal’s couch ( _when he wasn’t evicted_ ) when he needed it, or just needed a break from life in Missouri. It wasn’t unusual for the people to see the Flash on the streets, a bright green light trailing behind him as they patrolled through the city, usually getting dragged into some crazy alien feud or alternate dimension when he was supposed to just be visiting his friend. He would always keep an eye on it while Hal was off planet, making sure Hal’s home city was safe. Hal never asked, and Barry never mentioned it, but he knew that Hal was grateful in the way that he would pull him into a tight hug after he got back to Earth, squeezing his shoulders as he dragged Barry to his favorite bar down by Ferris Air for a celebratory round ( _or four_ ).

     He can’t bring his legs to move from the center of the crater, knees digging into the dust as he stares at the tiny specks of metal reflecting the sunlight, the only thing left of the city that used to be his home away from home. The last of the dirt slips from his fingers as he lets out a shaky breath, mind drifting back to his conversation with Bruce in the Batcave.

     “ _After Coast City was destroyed, something in him snapped.”_

     Barry could relate, staring out at the quiet landscape as his eyes water, the salty ocean air that he usually found refreshing feeling like sandpaper against his skin. Coast City was Hal’s _home_ — where he grew up, where his parents were buried— the place he had sworn to protect. How would _he_ react, he wonders, if Central was suddenly _gone?_ If there was nothing he could do about it, not even on the same _planet_ , in the same _galaxy_?

    “ _We have a report from a new Green Lantern, a kid named Kyle, saying that he flew to Oa and murdered the Green Lanterns, absorbed the entire power battery and disappeared.”_

 _That_ he couldn’t believe. Not _Hal Jordan_ , his best friend, whom he would have to physically restrain to stop from trying to help sometimes, always putting himself on the front lines before anyone else could even get a word in. Hal is a lot of things— impulsive, bull-headed, maybe a bit egotistical— but he isn't a _murderer._ There was no way in hell that Hal would kill any of his fellow Corps members. He remembers Hal admitting to him one night ( _under the influence of a few beers too many_ ) that he thought of them all as his brothers and sisters. The Green Lantern corps was his second family, Oa his home away from home, and Hal— _his Hal_ — would never do _anything_ to hurt either, no matter what had happened.

     He clenches his hand around his knee, gritting his teeth in frustration— why had no one tried to _help him?_ The entire Justice League had all known Hal, had all fought with him, bled with him, so why did no one realise that something was wrong _?_ That Hal Jordan, with his easy laughs and big heart, would never _murder_ anyone unless he had no other choice— and even then, he would still fight to find another way.

     “ _Barry, we tried to talk him down but he wouldn’t listen to reason— he seriously injured a few League members.”_

     Apparently it was easier to say that Hal Jordan was dead and move on— that’s what the League seemed to do, accepting that Hal had gone off the deep end and is now someone who had to be _stopped_ , not helped. _God_ , that isn’t the way that they used to operate. What happened to the Justice League who fought for _peace_ , always trying to help, and never to kill— _what had happened to his friends to make them this jaded, this unwilling to see the good in people?_

     He remembers the rage he had felt at Bruce’s words, the callous way he had yelled at him, shouts echoing off the walls of the Batcave.

     “ _Did you even try to help him? Did **anyone**? No one even stopped to check if something was wrong, if something had happened to him other than him suddenly going crazy and murdering his friends? That’s not Hal Jordan — **that’s** **not my best friend**. I don’t care what happened to him— Hal would never **kill** , not if he was in his right mind._”

     His shoulders shake as he pushes himself to his feet, wiping his dusty hands off on his borrowed sweatpants. He recalls how Bruce had flinched as if visibly struck, resting his head in his hands as he slumped back in his chair, face strained with guilt.

 _Good_ , he _should_ feel guilty— _they all should._ He doesn’t know what personal tragedies everyone had suffered in the last year, but what he does know is that the League looks after their own. They had failed Hal, had all let something happen to him in his grief while Barry wasn’t there to stop it.

 _Well_ , he thinks, sprinting to the edge of the crater in an instant, the cold ocean spray misting across his skin as he stares out over the horizon, eyes glinting with determination. _He’s here now_ — _and he’s going to do something about it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alert: sadness ahead!!

     His feet pound against the familiar pavement, body instinctively moving in a familiar path through Central City, darting around storefronts and over brick walls as he speeds towards his apartment on the outskirts of downtown, not sure what he’ll find when he gets there. Had it been sold? His stuff packed away, collecting dust in some hidden League warehouse somewhere? He doesn’t know, but he has to find a change of clothes and something to eat before he goes to find Wally or he’s going to pass out before he gets there, and his apartment seems as good a spot to start as any.

_God— **Wally.** _ He can only _imagine_ what the poor kid must be going through. Ever since Wally’s parents had died, him and Iris had taken him in and raised him like he was their own— he’s like a _son_ to him, the Garricks and himself the only family the kid has in the whole world now that Iris is gone, and he can’t _imagine_ what Wally had been going through while he was.. _**dead**_ ( _god, he’s never going to get used to saying that )._ He knows that Jay wouldn’t let anything happen to Wally— the Crimson Comet and his wife always had a _ridiculous_ soft spot when it came to Kid Flash— and Wally has friends that he can lean on.. but he’s already lost so many people in his life.

     As recent events made _painfully_ clear— _everyone_ has their breaking point.

     His feet lead him to his apartment complex, zipping up the stairs in a crackle of kinetic energy. He hesitates when he arrives in front the familiar oak door, hand automatically reaching for his keys, fumbling against the black cotton of his borrowed sweatpants before he remembers his current situation. His forehead _thumps_  against the peeling paint and eyes slip closed, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. _God— what a mess._

     He vibrates through the door with ease, pupils dilating in the dim light as he assesses his—  _familiar, thank god—_ surroundings. His apartment looks almost _exactly_ how he had left it— kitchen table covered in random case files and empty coffee mugs, his thick winter coat hanging from the hook by the door, umbrella stand that he always knocks over tilted against the wall. He frowns in confusion, taking a hesitant step forward before stumbling over something, catching himself on the doorframe to the living room as he glances down at a pair of bright yellow sneakers. He frowns— those _definitely_ aren’t his.

     There's a soft rustling sound from the direction of the living room and Barry's mind snaps to attention, tiptoeing past the doorframe and towards the coffee table to investigate, eyebrows furrowing further as he takes in the empty takeout containers scattered around the floor. He reaches the back of the couch, setting his hands down on the back before finally glancing down. He freezes.

     A wild mane of red hair is poking out from under one of Barry's spare blankets, soft snores interrupting the silence of the room. He inches to the front of the couch, knees hitting the carpet as he brushes some of the unruly mop off Wally's forehead with a fond smile, gently tucking the blanket around Wally's shoulders as his chest tightens with emotion.

     Wally’s nose scrunches up at the disturbance, frowning in his sleep as his eyes slip open, blinking blearily into the darkness of the room before his gaze follows the curve of Barry's arm to where he's kneeling on the floor. A crushing feeling of _guilt_ forms in Barry's stomach. _God,_ he looks _awful—_ dark purple circles under his eyes accentuated by the moonlight streaming in from the window, cheekbones sticking out worryingly far, like he’s lost weight that he _really_ couldn’t afford to. The redhead rolls over to face him, eyebrows raising with the briefest flicker of surprise as he takes in Barry sitting next to him, eyes drifting to Barry's face before dropping back down to couch. He turns his face into the pillow, tugging the blanket up and over his head.

     Barry's hand tightens on the blanket, brows pinching with concern. Wally's voice is muffled by the heavy wool, Barry’s ears straining to make out the words.

     “ _..can't do this, Barry. Dunno how to do this without you_.”

     Barry’s breath leaves his lungs in a _woosh_ , heart shattering into a million pieces as he yanks Wally off the couch, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

     “ _Wally —_ I'm **so sorry**.”

     Wally flails as the blanket slips from his shoulders, whole body tensing against Barry's before his muscles start to tremble. Barry hears him suck in a startled breath of air, hand shaking as he grabs at Barry's arm.

     “ _Uncle Barry?_ You're— you’re _really here?_ "

     Hot tears roll down his face as his arms tighten around the smaller speedster, crushing the redhead closer to him as his throat catches on the words.

     “Yeah, kid— I'm here.”

     He hears Wally let's out a watery-sounding wail, both hands desperately clutching at the back of Barry's shirt like he's afraid if he let's go he'll disappear. The kid is shaking like a leaf, whole body vibrating with anguish as he struggles to speak.

      “You _d-died!_ I saw—y-you were _**gone** —” _Wally lets out a gut-wrenching sob, breath catching in his throat as he sucks in a sharp inhale “— there was n-nothing left, just your empty u-uniform.” He pulls back to blink up at him, green eyes impossibly big as he sniffs loudly, wiping at the bottom of his nose with the back of his hand. “H-how are you _here?_ ”

     Barry lifts his hand to thread his fingers into the thick red strands, taking a deep breath to get his emotions under control as he pulls back, gently wiping a thumb across a stray tear rolling down the side of Wally’s cheekbone.

     “I don’t know, kid. I don’t know how I got back, or _why_ — but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere, not again. Not if I can help it.”

     Wally lets out another broken sounding sob and Barry pulls him back to his chest, more gentle this time as he rubs a hand up and down the redhead’s back in a soothing motion. His eyes slip closed, mind drifting back to the first time he did this, the night after Wally’s parents had died— the way the sky had opened up while they were at the hospital, rain pouring onto the street as he had held his coat over Wally’s head on the way back to the car. The way his chest had constricted painfully when he snuck a glance at him in the rearview mirror, Wally’s expression carefully blank as he pressed his forehead to the foggy window, eyes unfocused and suspiciously dry.

     Barry had barely known him, had no idea of the importance he would have in his life, but when he found Wally curled up on the floor of their guest room later that night, face pressed into the carpet with a hand clamped over his mouth as he tried ( _and failed_ ) to muffle his sobs, he didn’t hesitate for a moment, scooping him off the floor and letting him burrow into his chest, hand rubbing up and down Wally’s spine as the kid wept into his shirt, each hiccuping gasp strengthening his resolve to make sure that Wally would always have a home with him and Iris.

     He feels the tension in Wally’s shoulder slowly fade, sobs quieting down as he slumps forward against Barry’s chest, exhaustion finally catching up to him as he falls back asleep. Barry pulls the blanket back over him and lets him fall back against the couch cushions, brushing the hair off the younger speedster’s forehead with a fond smile.

     He pushes off the floor and stretches his arms over his head, spine popping loudly as he tiptoes in the direction of his old room, suddenly _desperate_ to wash the remnants of Coast City off of his skin— the tiny particles of dust and.. _christ,_ who _knows_ what else _._

     The water is soothing against his overworked muscles, strange restless feeling that had settled over him throughout the day melting off of him as he allows himself a moment to just breathe, to _process_ , head settling against the cold tile as he lets out a long breath.

     He had been _dead_ — not just _dead_ , but **gone** , completely and utterly erased from existence, not even a piece of his body for his friends to bury back on Earth. How did that _happen_? What force was strong enough to raise someone from the _dead_? Unless.. he never _died_ at all?

     The water pours over his head as his eyes clench shut, eyebrows pinched as he forces his mind back to that fateful moment when he had decided that the Universe was going to survive, no matter _what_ the cost. He remembers the fire, and the _pain_ , the desperate feeling in his chest as his feet clanked against the metal of the Anti-Monitor’s weapon— he remembers strange glimpses, weird fragments of time filtering past his vision as he burns from the inside out, skin evaporating as he continues to run, _hoping_ and praying to whoever could hear that this would work, that the people he cared about would be safe, and then—

     Nothing. No shining white light, no pearly gates— just _darkness_.

     He _shudders_ , grabbing a nearby bottle of shampoo and working it into his hair distractedly. He’s met gods before, came into contact with the Spectre more times than he’d have liked to, but still— isn't there supposed to be _something_ there? Something other than a crushing darkness, a feeling of compression like he was getting pressed infinitely smaller, all concept of thought and time falling away as everything that made him _Barry Allen_ dissolved into nothingness—

     A large globule of shampoo drops into his eye and he hisses in pain, rubbing at his face in annoyance. He super speeds through the rest of the shower, twisting the water off and wrapping a towel around his waist before he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. _What the hell?_

     He scoots closer to the mirror, finger poking at the skin under his eyes, eyebrows raised with shock. He certainly wasn’t _old_ when he had.. _died—_  he had just celebrated his 36th birthday not too long ago— but as he wipes a hand through the condensation on the mirror, the CSI in him categorizes the man staring back as no older than _twenty-five_.

     What the hell had _happened_?

     There’s a _crash_ from outside the bathroom door and his head snaps up, adrenaline flooding his system as he bolts out the bathroom and into his closet to throw on some clothes. He sprints out to the living room, heart _pounding_ against his ribcage—

     Wally is sitting on the floor, staring at him like he’s just seen a ghost ( _well.. that’s not entirely inaccurate_ ), shattered ceramic of one of Barry’s favorite coffee mugs scattered on the carpet.

     “I— _sorry_ , I thought— I thought it was just a dream.”

     Barry runs a hand through his hair, shooting Wally a sympathetic smile before gathering all the ceramic fragments from the carpet and tossing them in the trash. He makes a pit stop in the kitchen to make them both a cup of hot tea and darts back to the living room, setting them down on the coffee table and sitting on the edge so that he’s facing Wally on the couch.

     “Wally,” his voice is quiet, eyes solemn as he fiddles with the string of his teabag. “Have you.. have you seen _Hal?_ ”

     Wally freezes and Barry’s stomach drops, the redhead’s hands clenching around the sides of his tea mug as he shoots Barry another look filled with _despair_ , green eyes dropping to his lap as his hands start to shake.

     “I talked to him a few times, once at your fu-funeral,” he closes his eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath as Barry gives his knee a gentle squeeze. “The other time a few days later— he came to make sure I was okay.”

     Barry smiles at that— Hal’s always had a soft spot for his nephew, usually dragging him into some trouble that Barry had to bail them both out of ( _one notable incident involved Wally getting kidnapped by **space pirates**_ ). He always called himself the _fun uncle_ , and Barry _guesses_ that’s true— if by “ _fun_ ” he meant “ _kidnapping my nephew and flying around in untested jets._ ”

     “He didn’t look so good. I mean, _none_ of us did, but Uncle Hal—” Wally tugs at the string of his teabag, eyes unseeing as he’s thrown back into memories of a year ago “— he looked like all the _life_ got sucked out of him, like he got twenty years older overnight.”

     He drags a hand up to his forehead, pressing his hand into his hands as his stomach churns with guilt. Barry’s never had to think about what it would be like, having to _live_ after his best friend died, but he could _imagine_ , the survivor’s guilt Hal must have felt. If Hal had died, off on some random planet without Barry there to watch his back— he would be _devastated._

     “Then Coast City, it—” Wally’s voice catches in his throat, eyes watering as he tightens his grip on his mug “— it was just _gone_. I tried calling Uncle Hal but he wouldn’t pick up, wasn’t answering his Justice League hails, I— I didn’t know if he was _d-dead_ or..”

     Barry sets his mug down on the table, squeezing Wally’s shoulder with a reassuring motion. “What happened next?”

     Wally takes a deep breath, wiping under his eyes once before taking a sip of his tea, mug shaking as he sets it back down in his lap.

     “We didn’t hear from him for a long time, a few _months_ of not knowing if he was alive or dead, until a new Green Lantern, a human kid named Kyle told the league that Hal had gone crazy and absorbed all the _willpower_ in the universe or something.. that he was some kind of _killer_.” Bright green eyes glance up at him, Barry’s stomach flopping when he sees the absolute _heartbreak_ in them.

     “I didn’t believe him, couldn’t listen to them when they started _discussing_ it like it was even a possibility. I mean, it’s _Uncle Hal_ — how could they think that he was a _murderer_?”

     Barry feels a warm feeling rise in his chest as he smiles at his nephew with pride. _Of course_ Wally would see the best in Hal— he would always give everyone the benefit of the doubt. What a great kid.

     “Then we got an alert that he was back on Earth, and he was _attacking people_ ,” Wally’s voice is hoarse, like he’s digging up a painful memory, eyes boring holes into his lap as he continues to speak. “I ran up to him to try to help, to ask him _why— why he was doing this.._ but he looked right through me, Barry—” he glances up at Barry, eyebrows furrowed with confusion “— it was like he didn’t even _know_ me. He just kept on repeating that he was going to ‘ _fix things’_ , that he was gonna ‘ _make things right’._ Then he just disappeared, and we haven’t seen him since.”

     A tense silence settles over them as Wally finishes his recollection, quiet _ticking_ of the living room clock setting Barry’s nerves on edge as he shifts restlessly against the edge of the coffee table. Hal is out there somewhere— _alone_. He has to find him.

     Wally tilts his head up from where he had been staring into the depths of his coffee mug, eyes watery as he tilts his head at Barry with trepidation.

     “What’re you gonna do?”

     Barry smiles back at him reassuringly, pushing off the coffee table and downing the rest of his tea before sprinting to his bedroom in the back and grabbing one of his spare Flash rings from the drawer in his side table ( _he’s not sure where his usual one went after he died — probably lost in space somewhere_ ). He _zips_ back in front of his nephew, shoving the ring onto his finger and clenching his fist around it.

     “I’m going to save him.”

     Wally shoots him a blinding smile, whole face alight with happiness as he jumps off the couch, wrapping his arms around Barry’s middle briefly before pulling back, eyes glinting with determination.

     “How can I help?”

\------------------------ 

     The rusted iron gates open with a slow  _creak_ , swinging back behind him as he distractedly picks his way around the scattered tombstones, moonlight glinting off the cold marble statues as a gentle breeze ruffles the collar of his shirt. He doesn't  _want_ to be here, but he has to see the evidence for himself— has to confirm that he had really been  _dead_ , not just caught in some dark, fiery nightmare.

     His boots brush through the dew-covered grass, hand trailing over a nearby tomb as a deep sense of melancholy settles over him. The League had built its own hidden graveyard out of necessity— a place for its members to mourn their friends that had died protecting the world, free of outside interference. He always hated it here, hated that it was _necessary_ , that so many of his friends had given their lives in the pursuit of justice— but now.. he can appreciate its value.

     He isn't a _hypocrite_.

     He starts up a grass-covered hill, moonlight illuminating his path as he let's his mind wander back to the issue at hand. _Where does he even start?_ If what Wally said is true, then Hal could be anywhere in the universe, could be millions of lightyears away ( _alone and hurting_ ) with no way to contact him. Maybe he can start with Kyle, the _new_ Green Lantern ( _just thinking that puts a sour taste in his mouth— Hal isn't someone who can be replaced_ ), get all the information he can before he starts his search..

     Barry reaches the top of the hill, hidden beneath the shadow of a young looking oak tree, when he sees the statue. Jesus _christ—_

     It's _massive_ , over twenty feet tall _at least_ , carved from some kind of light grey marble and he's embarrassed all of a sudden, staring up at his own likeness with wide eyes. It's impressive, he'll give them that.. but he's never been one for hero worship, and this just seems.. _unnecessary._ He never wanted a huge statue in his honor ( _it had taken a long time for him to get used to seeing his image in front of the Flash Museum every time he ran past_ )— he just wanted to protect his friends, for them and the world to be safe. For everyone to be happy.

     His toes _crunch_ against frost-covered grass, the faintest whisper of wind twisting through tombstones and trees as the moonlight catches on the polished wings of his ear-covers. He can just barely make out the words at the bottom of the statue, the ice on the placard scraped over, like someone had recently brushed it off to read what it had to say.

_The Flash — Barry Allen. Savior of the World._

     He lets out a long breath— _christ_ , it’s true. His knees feel weak, breath condensing in front of him as he stares at the carvings, eyes unfocused as the sounds of melting flesh and disintegrating metal echo through his mind, clanging around in his skull until he pinches the bridge of his nose _hard_.

     Okay— _okay_ , so he was dead. He was dead, and now he's not. That's— he doesn't even know where to _start_ dealing with that, so for now..

     The breeze picks back up, chilly air penetrating through the collar of his shirt and he _shivers_ , tugging his jacket closer to his chest. He's about to take another step towards the statue when he hears a quiet _flap_ of fabric catching in the wind.

     Blue eyes snap towards the base of the statue, the dark shape that he thought was just part of the stone shifting, elongating with a quiet _sigh_. A cloud in front of the moon blows to the side and a sliver of light bounces off a sculpted cheekbone— a very _familiar_ unruly lock of brown hair. His breath freezes in his throat.

     “— _Hal?_ ”

     His head turns towards Barry, startled eyes barely visible in the meager light. A metal object he had been turning over in his hands drops from gloved fingers, falling onto the stone with a quiet _ping_. Barry can’t move– he can’t even _breathe_ , his heart beating out of control, chest tight as a desperate wave of relief bubbles up in his throat. He can see his face clearly now— can see the brown of his eyes, the streak of white just below his temples— can see the muted glow of the Lantern symbol on his chest, the light somehow dull and lifeless in the silence of the graveyard. Hal’s head tilts to the left, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

     “.. _Barry?_ ”

     Something like a half-sob escapes his lips, and his feet are moving before he can even think, darting across the frozen grass until he can skid to a halt right in front of him. Hal’s maskless, moonlight glinting off the white of his hair, and—  _god_ , he looks _exhausted_ — dark circles under his eyes, whole body tense—  _strained_ , like he’s barely keeping it together. He drops to his knees, eyes darting over Hal’s face and he hasn’t moved, mouth parted like he wants to say more but he can’t— frozen against the base of the statue, eyes wide with what looks like a combination of disbelief and _fear_. He’s wearing some sort of shoulderpads, the strange fabric glowing with a soft green light, a long cape bunched underneath him and he looks—  _old_. _Lifeless_ , like all the unbridled laughs and bright determination has been sucked right out of him, leaving nothing but a hollow husk that looks a lot like his best friend. _This isn’t right_.

     Hal’s hand reaches for him and Barry scoots closer, knees dragging against the cold stone as Hal’s glove brushes against his face, something _sharp_ scraping across his cheekbone and Hal’s eyes are zoned into the movement, eyebrows still furrowed, eyes blinking rapidly like he’s trying to process what he’s seeing. Brown eyes hesitantly shift back to his own.

     “— Barry?” His voice is rough, quiet and wary like he’s afraid that this isn’t real— like what he’s seeing is just a cruel trick. “You’re _real?_ ”

     He lets out another sob, lips curling in a watery smile as he lifts his hand up to grab Hal’s, tugging it so that it’s pressed against his chest— right over his heart. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here, Hal— I’m back.”

     Hal’s eyes shift down to his hand on Barry’s sternum, holding his breath as he feels the rapid  _thump thump thump_ of his heartbeat. His head tilts to the side again, eyes narrowing with what looks like almost _childlike_ confusion.

     “How.. I didn’t— I haven’t finished yet. I haven’t _fixed_ it.” Hal’s gaze catches his own and Barry feels a sharp _sting_ against his chest as Hal’s fingers spasm. His voice sounds desperate, stumbling over the words “— h-how are you _here?_ ”

     Barry’s eyes feel watery, lips still turned up in a sad smile as he brings his other hand up to rest on the spot between Hal’s shoulderpad and his neck, thumb dragging over the skin just below his jaw. He can hear Hal suck in a startled breath, wide eyes flicking down to where Barry’s holding on to him ( _and he’s not going to let go— no goddamn way is he letting go, now that he has him— here, right by his side where he can help him_ ). His eyes flick back over Hal’s face, and _god_ , he looks so tired. There’s a trail of dried blood clinging to both temples that makes Barry’s stomach _flop_ with worry, but Hal doesn’t seem to notice.

     “I don’t know how—” he murmurs, stroking his thumb up over Hal’s neck. He slides his hand up until he can roll a strand of white hair between his fingers “— maybe the universe realised that my best friend needed me and sent me back.”

     He watches as a fresh tear rolls down the side of Hal’s nose, brown eyes staring at Barry with a dazed expression. Hal _blinks_ suddenly, eyes defocusing like he’s not quite there— like he’s seeing something far away. He looks so.. lost and confused— it makes Barry’s heart _ache_. Hal’s eyes drift down to where their hands are still tangled together on Barry’s chest, fingers suddenly _flexing_ and there’s a loud _ripping_ noise that cuts through the cemetery, echoing off the stone slabs. Barry looks down at his shirt in surprise– five diagonal lines are torn into the fabric. Hal tugs his hand back, eyes wide with.. _terror?_

     “Hal, what—?”

     Hal doesn’t seem to hear him, head tilted to the right again like he’s listening to something only he can hear, the same hand reaching for his temple as he flinches all at once, a pained sound torn from his lips. He’s pushing himself up before Barry can even blink, both hands clamped over his ears, eyes clenched shut as he hunches over in what looks like _pain_. Barry can barely make out Hal’s words—

     “— _don’t need help– I don’t– I have a plan, I’m going to fix everything_ —” he can see another tear leak from the corner of Hal’s eyes and he takes a step closer, eyes wide with alarm “— _m’ going to fix everything, fix_ —”

     Barry reaches for Hal’s arms, tugging his hands away from his temples and—  _christ, are those.. talons?_ He spins Hal around to face him, but Hal doesn’t seem to notice him, eyes now staring at the pavement with those vacant, defocused eyes that make Barry feel _sick_ with how _lifeless_ they are. His eyebrows are pinched with confusion, fresh droplets of blood rolling down the side of his face and Barry can’t take this— Hal looks so _afraid_ — he twists their fingers together, ignoring the _sting_ as Hal’s fingers get tangled in his own as he _squeezes_.

     “Hal, listen to me—” Hal _flinches_ , tugging back like he wants to escape but Barry doesn’t let him, just holds on tighter, desperate to keep Hal here, to get him away from whatever dark place he’s trapped in “— you don’t have to do anything by yourself. I’m here now, you understand?” He takes a step closer, ducking down to catch Hal’s gaze and he can see Hal focus on his eyes, can see the _terror_ in those amber irises as his whole body _shakes_. “I’m _here_ — let me _help you_.”

     Hal shakes his head a little, eyes blinking rapidly as he _trembles_ and _god_ , he looks so _scared_ — he’s never seen him like this before, never seen this blatant _terror_ etched into every line of his skin. _What the hell happened?_

     “No– _no_ , I don’t— _ah_ —!” Hal doubles over, hands torn from Barry’s grasp and he’s clutching his head again, eyes slammed shut as he cries out in pain. Barry grabs his shoulders to hold him up, trying to pry Hal’s hand off his head so he doesn’t hurt himself but Hal’s holding on so _tightly_ —

     “Hal, what’s— what’s happening to you? _What’s wrong?_ ”

     Hal lets out a terrified sob, face pressing into Barry’s chest and Barry wraps his arms around his back, holding him close. “ _Hurts—_ ” Hal’s voice is muffled, lips pressed against the tears in Barry’s shirt as he _shakes_ “ _—loud, it’s too loud, I can’t—_ ” one of his hands grabs at Barry’s arm in a jerky, desperate motion and he can hear the heavy fabric _rip_ but he doesn’t care, nothing matters except for the way Hal’s clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

     “Hal, I saw what happened to Coast City— I can’t even begin to comprehend what you’re going through, but _please—_ ” he doesn't know what he can say to get _through_ to him, doesn’t know how he’s even going to _begin_ to fix what’s broken here “— _please_ , just let me help you.”

     The _tremble_ of Hal’s body stops all at once, shoulders _tensing_ beneath Barry’s hold and Barry lets out a relieved sigh—

     — but Hal slips out from his arms and takes two steps back, hardened eyes disappearing behind his green mask, all traces of those brief, _terrified_ moments wiped away. Green power coalesces around his hand as his back straightens, cape suddenly _snapping_ out behind him as he pushes himself off the ground and levitates into the air.

     “You can’t help me, Barry.” His voice sounds _completely_ different– sounds _nothing_ like the Hal he knows, the Hal he was just talking to, the loud timbres echoing around the deserted graves with a faint undertone of something.. _different_ , something that makes the hair on Barry’s arms stand straight up, that sixth sense that warns him when he’s dealing with something _dangerous_ tugging at his gut and making him finger the release mechanism of his ring. Hal’s hands clench into two tight fists.

     “This universe is broken— misguided and corrupt. I will fix it.” Hal’s head lifts towards the stars, green power growing brighter around him– brighter than Barry’s ever seen before. “I will fix _everything_.”

     Barry takes a step forward, a desperate “— Hal, _please—_ ” caught between them as he curls his hand around Hal’s arm and then—

     — Hal’s face _transforms_ , so quickly that if he were anyone but the fastest man alive he would have missed it— his cheeks morphing into something gaunt and hollow, eyes filled with a terrible yellow glow as his lips curl in a wide _snarl_ , teeth stretching and sharpening into deadly points and it’s not _Hal—_  it’s something else staring back at him from Hal’s eyes, something ancient and _alien_ and he feels a wave of sheer, unadulterated _terror_ wash over him before he’s being shoved away, thrown across the graveyard in a burst of green light. His back _smacks_ against a nearby tombstone with a muffled _thunk_ , pain radiating from the impact into every corner of his body. He lets out a small cry of pain, eyes stinging as he tries to catch his breath, one arm caught underneath him as he struggles to push himself up.

     There’s a quiet _crunch_ of boots hitting the frozen grass and Barry forces his eyes open. Hal’s back on the ground, one hand stretched out like he wants to go to him, other hand pressed tight over his mouth. His mask is gone once again, brown eyes desperate, _pleading—_ one foot leading in Barry’s direction as he hesitates.

     “ _I’m sorry_ —” Hal’s voice is choked, filled with such _anguish_ and then he’s spinning around, green energy pooling around him. There’s a huge _burst_ of green energy, a warping sound echoing around the silent graveyard and then— he’s gone.

     Barry stares at the spot where Hal just stood, ears still _ringing_ from the impact and he manages to push himself up on a shaking arm. He _slumps_ against the marble slab with disbelief, unable to ignore the stab of _dread_ in his chest, mind still _reeling_ from what he had just seen.

_Hal, what happened to you?_ He looks at the faint traces of burn marks on the spot where Hal had disappeared, sniffs at the traces of ozone permeating through the air. One hand drags through his hair.

_God— how is he going to fix this?_


End file.
